


Bolts and Blasters

by theboldsnake



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Reader Insert, Rex catches feelings for the local mechanic, Slow Burn, Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22625344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theboldsnake/pseuds/theboldsnake
Summary: You join the GAR as the mechanic to 501st, expecting to travel the galaxies and see new things. Meet new people.What you don’t expect is a certain clone captain to catch your eye.Now, if only you two could agree on things...***Or, I got attached to Rex and just wanted to see him happy.
Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex/Reader
Comments: 76
Kudos: 332





	1. Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all! I know it’s been a hot minute since I’ve been on here; life got a little crazy. But I’m back now with some lovely Rex x mechanic!reader.  
> Hope you enjoy!

Mechanics, much like clones find sleep whenever it finds them. Or, at least, this is the conclusion you come to, as you wedge yourself in between a supply crate and a busted astromech.  


The 501st has been campaigning for what feels like an eternity now, and still, there has been no real progress. It’s starting to wear on everyone, and it shows in the exchanges between men, ranging from snippy to downright cruel.  


You get to deal with all this, as a civilian mechanic brought in to help cull the sheer number of repairs that are necessary in order to make another attempt at advancing. But even with the mechanically inclined clones pitching in, there is… a lot. Especially because people tend to get angry when things aren’t fixed. But droids and blasters are really only meant to last for so long, and you can only coax so many engines into working for just a little bit longer, so they’ll just have to get over it.  


But hey, the pay is good (getting shot at means a pretty credit in hazard pay), and you get to see the galaxy.  


Now if you can just catch a break. You close your eyes and listen to the light rain on the roof of the supply tent, enjoying the rhythmic sound. It’s a nice change up from the near-constant yelling and distance firefight sounds you’ve become used to.  


“Hiding out, are we?” The voice jars you awake, right before you drift all the way off. Your eyes stay closed, but a smile curves your lips.  


An additional bonus to going from a civil mechanic to one employed by the Republic was CT-7567, or Rex. The clone captain met you in the midst of a particularly tough offensive, when you resorted to actually begging the transport ship engine to hang in there. (And yes, it manifested in you singing under your breath about the joys of oil. It was a way to cope with stress, ok?)  


It was a… memorable first impression to say the least.  


Regardless, you must have done something right, because after that, you two ended up becoming what you would consider good friends.  


And now here he stands, waiting on you to acknowledge his presence.  


“You’re pestering,” you respond, shifting slightly and wedging yourself further back in an attempt to get more comfortable. Instead, your head bumps into the corner of the crate, eliciting a wince. Finally, you have no choice but to open your eyes and look up at him.  


“And you’re hiding away while the rest of us work,” he says. There’s a gleam in his eyes that tells you he’s joking with you.  


You register this directly after registering his appearance. There are dark emerges under his eyes, and a few days worth of stubble on his jaw. He’s soaking wet and making a puddle near your feet. His armor has seen better days; at this point more mud than anything else.  


“Gross,” you whine. “Do you know how hard it was to find somewhere that wasn’t wet or muddy?”  


“I can imagine.” His tone is acrid, and it sends you into a fit of laughter. A sure sign you’re exhausted. He props himself up on the crate, exaggerating his exasperated expression for your benefit.  


You’re not exactly sure how or _why_ this little friendship happened. Rex, at his core, is dedicated to fighting for the cause, something you had been quick to realize. He will never be one to be content with settling down. Having a family.  


But maker, here he is, bantering and flirting with you in between all the fighting and surviving and giving you a look that makes you wonder.  


“I just needed to catch a quick nap,” you say, suddenly desperate to steer your mind away from those lines of thought. “So I wouldn’t kill Fives.” Rex snorts, then moves to sit down beside you, bringing his muddy water with him.  


“If that isn’t the summary of my life,” he mutters. You choke back another laugh, and he takes the opportunity to rub some of the water out of his short, blond hair.  


“You’re getting me wet,” you complain when he rubs more vigorously than necessary, sending droplets flying all over you.  


“Tough, kid.” You lean up enough to sock him in the shoulder, then wince when you hit the armor instead.  


“I just wanted some quick shut eye, and instead, I’m sitting here being abused,” you gripe. “And don’t call me kid.” Rex leans back against the supply crate, tilting his chin up so his head is all the way back. His eyes close.  


“So sleep,” he says, not bothering to look at you again. You watch him for a minute, then decide it cannot be a comfortable angle.  


“Do you want to come back here with me? It’s a lot warmer, and you’re less likely to be spotted by well-meaning subordinates.” It’s out before you can really process what you just said.  


Kriff. No, agh, you did not just suggest _cuddling_ with Rex. It would be an innocent suggestion, except for him to “come back here” it means he’ll have to wedge in between the droid and crate and you. It’ll certainly be nice and cozy.  


And while that’s not wholly unappealing to you, it makes things very, very awkward.  


He tilts his head up, pinning you with an unreadable gaze. You can feel your cheeks heat, and you look away, fast, before he sees something you aren’t ready to let him see.  


“Cross that. Don’t answer that,” you’re quick to say. “Just… go back to sleep.” He’s still quiet, and you wish you could just like, die, right here. Or maybe turn into one of the cute creatures that keeps getting underfoot. Or, y’know, die. You’re not picky.  


“I wouldn’t mind that,” he says finally, and it’s your turn to stare. Jaw stays closed, you remind yourself.  


“I… O-ok.” He wriggles himself closer, and you realize it’s not going to be very comfy, because he’s still wearing wet armor which also happens to be very hard. Good for keeping men alive, bad for sleeping. (Read: cuddling.)  


Rex seems to realize this at the same time you do, because his hands fly to the clasps, as if on instinct. He stops, then, and looks at you.  
“I can leave it on if it will bother you. I’m used to sleeping in it.” It’s suddenly uncomfortably hot; wedged there in between the astromech and crate.  


“I don’t fancy getting all wet and muddy,” you say after a beat, pretending to have a lot more bravado than you actually do.  


The armor comes off.  


Silence settles heavy in the tent, and you two just sort of look at each other.  


“What if I-”  


“How about we-”  


The two of you speak at the same time, and you’re starting to question whether or not this whole thing is all worth it.  


“You go first,” Rex says, even as you open your mouth to tell him to go first.  


“What if you lie down,” you say slowly, “then I’ll use you as a pillow?” There’s a look that passes over his expression, and it’s gone in an instant, but it leaves you with a tingling feeling somewhere deep inside.  


“Alright.” You move out of his way, and he settles himself down. Counting to three, you move forward, and end up curled into him, head resting on his chest.  


This is a wonderful position, not only because it’s warm and soft, but also because now your misbehaving brain can’t get distracted by the way Rex looks in his form-fitting Republic-issued blacks.  


You can hear his heartbeat. It’s a little fast, much like yours feels, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest.  


It’s a heady feeling; this position. Intoxicating. Rex stays silent, and you force yourself to close your eyes.  


“You make a good pillow,” you finally mumbled, nearly asleep. Rex laughs softly, and it stirs the hair on top of your head. You snuggle up closer, vaguely aware of Rex tightening his arms around you. The pleasant warm feeling spreads to all around you.  


Hours later, when you wake up to the distant sound of the 501st calling for their leader, you’re forced out of the pleasant little cocoon, and back into the real world.  


But the warm feeling stays, even when you venture back out into the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Come find me on tumblr as @kill-the-feels, where I post about Star Wars and whatever else strikes my fancy. :)


	2. Reaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s where it all starts;)

You’ve had to adapt. Quickly. Going from a civilian mechanic to one contracted by the army is fine. It’s good pay, chance to travel, etc…  
Most of the time.  


You can’t say you love getting shot at. That puts a damper on things, especially when everyone is yelling at you to fix the transport ship so they can leave.  


Yes, you know there’s a need for urgency. Yes, you know they’re all waiting on you to finish repairing the engine. But all you have is bits and pieces, and before those bits and pieces can be used, you have to make sense of them.  


“Any time now,” Rex gripes beside your shoulder, and you take a brief moment to make a face at him.  


“I’m trying,” you snap back. He’s wearing his helmet, so you can’t see his face, but the irritated little growl low in his throat conveys his feelings.  


He’s frustrated. You all are. The Republic is losing ground on the planet that never stops with the rain, and all the transports are dead or dying. A blaster bolt flies right over your shoulder, and he shoves you farther down with one hand, the other never loosening its grip on his blaster.  


“Try faster,” he says, ducking down a little himself. You pull out a random wire, then trace it back into the engine, wincing all the while. It’s impossible to miss all the jagged and broken parts inside.  


“Stop busting up the transports, then,” you answer, leaning farther down until you’re up to your elbow in engine grease.  


There’s an explosion that rocks the transport, and Rex ends up basically _on top_ of you, something your brain files away for later. You’ve been thinking about him since you _cuddled_ together, hidden away from the rain and people.  


This is not the time, you remind yourself, pulling a jagged fragment back into place with one hand, and connecting a red wire to a brown one with the other. There’s a clunking sound, then the transport begins to hum as it powers up.  


“Yes!” You cry, slapping the side of it and getting grease everywhere. “Just hold on a little longer, baby, and I’ll give you all the oil you want.” You hear Rex scoff and you’re opening your mouth to poke fun at him when you see it.  


“Look out!” Your body moves of its own accord; before you can tell it otherwise.  


You shove him out of the way as the enemy droid takes aim and fires. You can _feel_ it singe by your side, leaving a burning trail in it’s wake. Rex pushes himself up off the ground, then catches you as you stumble. The bolt didn’t hit you, but it definitely grazed you, if the fire in your side is any indication.  


“Stupid, stupid,” Rex mutters as he scoops you into his arms, running for the open side of the transport, where the rest of the 501st is waiting to take off. He slides on the mud, and you push against his chest. Your head feels a little woozy, and you’re not sure who or what exactly he’s talking about.  


“Put me down! I’m fine,” you insist. The helmet tilts down to look at you, and you can tell he’s beyond angry now.  


The two of you reach the transport, and he puts you inside first, before climbing in himself. The other clones are quick to ask Rex for direction, as the ship takes off.  


He sets them to various tasks, before coming to a stop beside you.  


Your side feels like it’s on fire, and you’ve decided the cons of being an army mechanic definitely outweigh the pros.  


He kneels down beside you, steadying himself as the transport rocks over some flak.  


“What were you thinking?” He hisses, tugging off his helmet. The rest of the 501st is doing a bang-up job of pretending to ignore you.  


“What was I thinking? What do you mean, what was I thinking?” Rex pinches the bridge of his nose, and you feel bad for causing him this extra stress, but you’d reacted on instinct, and you don’t really feel sorry for it.  


“I’m the one with the armor, _cyar'ika_ ,” he mutters. The Mando’a word is not unfamiliar to you, but at the moment you can’t quite remember what it means.  


“I just reacted,” you whisper, shifting slightly to try and ease the burning. Rex raises an eyebrow, expression turning resigned.  


“Let‘s see it,” he says with a sigh. You raise the shirt slightly, then focus on how his feather light touch feels on your skin.  


It’s a pleasant distraction, and a much more welcome kind of burn.  


His thumb presses gently on the graze, and you suck in a sharp breath. Instantly, his finger is gone, and he looks worried.  


“Did I hurt you?” You shake your head, already missing the contact.  


“No.” He watches you for a minute more, then looks over his shoulder at the clones who are still pretending to be busy. Ever so slowly, his hand comes up and brushes some of the hair off your face.  


“Don’t do that again,” he chides. “You’re not the one who’s meant to sacrifice themselves for the cause.” He cups your face gently, and you feel an unexpected tightness in your chest at his words and from his touch.  


Neither are you, your mind says. But as you look up at him, all you can do is nod.  


“Ok.”  


The transport nears the bigger ship, and you can feel the moment ending as Rex stands and starts to put his helmet back on. He looks at you one more time.  


“I mean it,” he says sternly, before passing you off to Fives, who is ordered to take you to the med bay.  


Your skin burns in two very different ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Phantoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has some _light_ smut/suggestive content, so if that’s not your thing, just go ahead and click on by.

Everything is blurry around you. In the distance, there is a delicate song playing. The melody catches you and carries you, leaving you feeling weightless. Slowly, your eyes adjust, and you see him standing there.  


Rex.  


The word spills out of your mouth, and he’s there in an instant, arms holding you tight. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and you cling to him, afraid to let go.  


And then he’s moving, and his lips are ghosting over yours while his hands roam.  


You feel his fingers as they trace down your spine, then lower, cupping and pulling you closer until there is hardly a breath left between you. It elicits a small gasp, and he claims your mouth again, groaning against you as you rake your fingers through his short hair.  


His lips move away, pressing kisses along your jaw and neck. You cling to him, legs too unsteady to even think of moving away. His hands tangle in your hair, pulling your head back so he can press an opened mouthed kiss on the column of your throat.  


The breathy little moan slips out of it’s own accord, and you pull him back to your mouth, and grinding against him.  


You’re on fire again, this time deliciously so.  


“ _Cyar’ika_ ,” he breathes against your mouth, hands slipping under your shirt and running up your sides. His thumb traces along he edge of your breast, sending shivers down your spine.  


“Yes?” You whisper, your own mouth finding a place on his collarbone that makes him shiver against you.  


He tightens his hold on you, and you look up at him. He’s still hazy like the room is, but it adds to the heady effect his touch is already causing.  


“ _I love-_ ”  


The blaring alarm sends you shooting bolt-upright in the bed. The room is dark and it takes you a moment to gain your bearings.  


Your arms feel empty and your skin feels cold, like Rex was never there at all. Like it was all just—  


A _dream_.


	4. Unsaid

Sometimes, you don’t go with the 501st on their missions. Sometimes, the need is so great on Coruscant, you’re forced to stay behind to help cope with the overwhelming amount of explicitly necessary repairs (explicitly necessary, because there are even more that _should_ be done but _have_ to be pushed back).  


You try to convince yourself you don’t mind. There are plenty of mechanically inclined clones; they can fix things in a pinch.  


But you also know who you are, and you know that you won’t rest easy until they’re back. Going with them makes everything more tangible. You can hold that busted blaster in your hands and know it’s been fixed the correct way, rather than relying on the so-called knowledge of a mechanically inclined clone.  


(Honestly, the lack of control drives you crazy.)  


Rex knows this, and this is perhaps why he’s sentenced you to remain on Coruscant for the foreseeable future. After your little stunt that landed you in the med bay, he’s been extra cautious.  


It’s infuriating.  


“Just let me come this time,” you argue as you wipe the grease from your hands. The 501st has only just gotten back from a mission, and Rex hasn’t bothered to clean himself up yet, if the increased stubble and dirty armor are any indication. He eyes the fighter you’re currently picking apart for salvageable parts.  


“You have more than enough to keep you busy here.” You scowl, and fling the rag down. It lands on the tarp full of parts with a muffled thwack. It’s not nearly loud enough to convey your frustrations.  


“I’ll keep my head down this time. Kriff, I won’t even get into the middle of battle, if that’s what you want.” Rex rolls his eyes, and you can see the tiredness there. The 501st is being run ragged. It adds to your own worry.  


“It’s not about that,” he says through gritted teeth. Now you roll your eyes, gaze dropping to the parts at your feet. You toe one around, searching for the words to convince him.  


“What is it about, then? You can’t keep me here forever. You need me.” It comes out too pouty, and you hate that because you’re trying to convince him to quit being so protective, and you meant for it to sound _professional_. Like a fellow soldier.  


“I don’t _need_ anybody,” he counters, “especially not hot-headed mechanics who don’t know when to stop.” You snap your head up and glare at him, jaw clenched in an effort not to say something you’ll regret.  


“I can’t just watch you all go,” you protest, “knowing a quick repair could be the difference between life and death.” Rex slams a fist against the ruined fighter, temper boiling over.  


“You are not a soldier. You’re not. You’re a mechanic who is going to get herself killed, and I will not be the one to let it happen. I-I won’t. Can’t.”  


His voice is barely louder than normal but the words and the way his voice wobbles strikes you in the chest. He looks away, focusing intently on the part you’ve been worrying.  


Oh.  


_Oh._  


“So just… stay here and do your job, so I can do mine,” he finishes without looking up. You bite your lip, anger cooling.  


“Rex, you can’t keep me safe forever,” you say quietly. He jerks his gaze back to you, expression warning you not to go there, but you hold up a finger to keep him from interrupting.  


“Eventually, I’m going to have to go back out there. That’s just how it is. And I can take care of myself.” He scoffs.  


“Jumping in front of a blaster shot is not _taking care_ of yourself.” He’s back to teasing, the tense moment passing before either of you are really forced to confront the implications of his words.  


You sock him in the shoulder, then wince when your fingers clack against the pauldron.  


“Just make sure you come back here in one piece, tough guy.” He gives you a mock salute, then takes a step closer.  


You find yourself suddenly afraid to move, worried anything sudden will scare him back to his normal, rational self. He brushes a stray hair off your cheek before cupping the side of your face. His hand leaves a tingling sensation, and you end up holding it in place with your hand.  


“‘Course, _cyar’ika_ ,” he says, tilting his head down to yours. “Wouldn’t want to give you too much to repair.” His voice has gone soft now, and you’re tempted to finally ask him what the word means, but in the distance, you hear the rest of the 501st approaching.  


Gently, Rex pulls away, and you go back to salvaging for parts, forced to watch him leave.


	5. Disquiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s a little heavy on the angst because clones go through it, okay?

Everyone knows when the 501st come back to town. Besides the sudden presence of a certain numerically named flirt at 79’s, there’s an influx of personal in the hanger, getting all in your way.  


You’re annoyed, up until you see the telltale blue.  


You go through a couple emotions at once, all before your stomach settles on being a bundle of nerves.  


Despite this, you don’t see him for the rest of the day.  


It’s not until you’ve schlepped yourself back to your room, ready to hit the ‘fresher and crash until your alarm goes off at an unholy hour.  


(The repairs never end.)  


He’s leaning against the doorway, head tilted back and eyes closed. HIs helmet is clutched lazily under his arm, and his eyes are closed. You choose not to get distracted by the amount of relief you feel. Rex is alive and he’s here.  


“Hey, stranger,” you call, tiredness momentarily forgotten. Rex opens his eyes, and there’s some inscrutable emotion in his eyes before he blinks again, clearing his face of everything but humor.  


“Hey yourself,” he calls back. You’re close enough now to see the absolutely weary set of his shoulders. There’s shadows under his eyes and - _kriff_ \- in them.  


He’s been through the ringer on this last mission.  


“Everything ok?” You ask gently. He looks away, jaw clenched.  


“Rough day,” he says. His tone is evasive. You cock your head, studying him and waiting on him to elaborate.  


He says nothing, and you’re no good at comforting. So you opt for what you do best.  


Distract. Fix the problem with odds and ends.  


“I bet mine was worse. Ever showered in grease? Let me tell you, it is not pleasant. Better than oil, i suppose, but there’s a reason people don’t become mechanics these days.” You reach around him, punching the code for your door. It is insanely tempting to hug him, and something tells you he would enjoy that, but you can’t. Not yet. You gesture for him to come on in.  


“Is that what I’m smelling?” He asks, poking you in the ribs as he enters the room. You smack the back of his armor - hard enough to shake him but not hard enough to hurt him. (Hard enough to hurt you, if the tingle in your hand is any indication. You’d think you would learn.)  


“I have had a very long day, and if I have to explain the difference between the engine and the hyperdrive one more time, I will _scream_.” Rex sinks into the chair you keep by your tiny desk.  


“There’s a difference?” If looks could kill, he’d be dead right now. You strip off the top part of your jumpsuit, letting out an annoyed grunt when you realize the grease has soaked through to the undershirt.  


“There absolutely is a difference.” Rex seems to realize you’re as dead on your feet as he is, because he stands, and makes to leave.  


“Wait.” The word slips out before you can stop it, as your words are wont to do around him. He freezes then, and for the longest you two just stand there and just sorta… look.  


“Wait?” He repeats. His shoulders have sunken down even more. You don’t know why you said wait, other than you don’t want him to go. An idea hits you then, and you wrestle with it for a solid minute, just to say you tried.  


“I wouldn’t mind it… If you… If you decided to stay here for the night.” Rex tilts his head, watching you as if trying to decide how far to go.  


If he should go, for that matter.  


“You sure ‘bout that?” Even as he asks, the helmet is placed on the desk. And, although you’ve napped together before - you used him as a pillow, for kriff’s sake - there’s something more intimate about this. (For one thing, there’s a _bed_ this time.)  


“Sure.” As much as it scares you to invite him in, you know you’ll lie awake all night regretting it if you don’t. “Let me just slip into the ‘fresher.” Rex, who looks like he’s still trying to process your words, nods slowly.  


“Yeah, sure. I’ll hit the ‘fresher by the racks, then come back.”  


“Good.”  


“Good.”  


_Great_.  


By the time you’ve scrubbed your skin until it’s pink and changed into the sleeping clothes you keep, there’s a soft knock at the door.  
He’s in just his blacks now, and you have to remind your brain that eyes _do not stay focused on the chest_.  


“Come on in.” Rex glances down the hall, then slips in. There is a moment where you both stare at the bed, and then he takes initiative and sinks in with a little groan that does something funny to your insides.  


“Can’t believe they give the better beds to the mechanics,” he gripes, and just like that, the tense spell is broken. You slide in beside him, wriggling until you’re comfy, and lying on your side to face him.  


His arm ends up draped over your middle, the action so natural and comfortable, it doesn’t take you long to start drifting off. Rex does the same, and the two of you end up curling even closer.  


It’s amazing how much better you sleep when he’s near.  


At some point, you wake up to a dark room. Something is wrong. Instantly, your hand reaches out, finding Rex.  


He’s shaking.  


There are little sounds of terror coming from him that absolutely break your heart.  


“Rex.” You shake his shoulder, then call his name again. Just when you’re afraid he won’t wake, he shoots up, taking the blankets with him.  


You’re there in an instant, not even hesitating this time as you hug him from behind.  


“It’s ok,” you whisper. “You’re ok, _cyar’ika_.” 

The word feels funny on your tongue, and you make a mental note to finally ask someone what it means.  


His shoulders shake a little, and you feel like crying with him. Never have you felt so helpless.  


“They’re all gone,” he mutters finally. “All of them.” Your eyes burn and all you can do is hold him.


	6. Friction

Rex finds you on an unseasonably warm Coruscant day. The 501st is on leave for the foreseeable future, after a particularly disastrous battle off-world.  


(You’d still been helping with repairs on Coruscant, and the news of the battle had left you afraid to breathe for three days straight; right up until Rex commed, saying he was fine, everything was _fine_.)  


Now, you’re waiting for their survivor’s leave to run out, so you can join the 501st on their missions again.  


(You have no way of knowing this, but Rex is quite happy you’ve been stuck here. After the carnage of the last battle… He is insanely glad he didn’t have to worry about your presence on the battlefield.)  


He comes to stand beside you while you fiddle with parts of a downed speeder, watching clones run drills.  


“Efficient, aren’t they?” He asks, pushing the wrench you’re reaching for closer with the toe of his boot. You snag it and twist the loose screw tighter, eying the still-loose wiring.  


“I could take ‘em.” You absolutely, probably could not take them. But the words are worth the amused laugh that bursts forth from him.  


“Could you?” Your hands brush over the wires, mentally taking note of which ones can be spliced together and repaired, and which ones will have to be replaced all together.  


“Sure, they made me pass a physical before they recruited me for the GAR.” You leave off the fact that the “physical” was only a small test of various skills that could be passed by anyone with any mild sort of determination.  


“Let’s see it then.” You looks away from the wires, staring up into the face of Rex. He looks better than he did all those weeks ago; when he was waiting outside your quarters.  


Then, he looked dead on his feet. Now, there’s still a palpable tiredness in his eyes, but he looks more himself.  


(There is no trace of the grief he allowed himself to feel that night.)  


“N-now?” You stammer out. Rex shrugs his shoulders.  


“Why not now? I’d like to see those _skills_.” You strip the red coating off a wire, exposing the pretty copper color beneath. There should be a brown wire somewhere, maybe back behind the panel… You furrow your brow, thoughts temporarily shifting to the mess in front of you.  


“I’m busy.” It’s an excuse. You’ve finally managed to get on top of most of the repairs, and the speeder is one you’re doing just for fun.  


“I can see that.” His voice comes from right behind you; close enough that his breath stirs the hair at the nape of your neck.  


Close enough he _feels_ you jump at his proximity.  


“I really don’t think we need to test my skills today. Where is that brown wire?” You hiss the last part under your breath. Rex reaches around you and plucks it out from beside a frayed and broken yellow one.  


“This one?” He seems unbothered by your position - with his arm reaching around you and his back right up against yours, it’s almost like a weird, pseudo-hug thing you’ve got going on - but it’s taking a good deal of your concentration not to do something that will reveal how much he’s affecting you. Like lean farther back into him. Or blush. (Maker, you’d never live _that_ down.)  


Or both.  


“Yes.” Oh, you so _did not mean_ for your voice to come out _that_ breathy.  


It seems to finally have an effect on Rex too, because he backs away enough that you can breathe normally again.  


You finish with the wires, making note of which ones will definitely need a replacement, then slam the panel door closed.  


Rex waits until you’re looking at him, gaze carefully neutral when he speaks.  


“Then again, if you’re too scared to fight me, you can always admit it.” Your eyes narrow. You don’t back down from a challenge, and he knows it.  


“Bring it on.”  
***  


The two of you end up in one of the recreational rooms used by the clones to work on their individual skills. It’s empty by this point in the day; everyone else is in the outdoor area to run battle drills.  


“Should you be there?” You ask Rex as he takes off the upper portions of his armor. It’s nothing you haven’t seen, but, uh, in the bright lights of the room, you can _clearly_ see how nice and defined his chest is.  


_Nice and defined_.  


“Not today,” he answers, rolling his shoulders and stretching. You attempt to copy his movements. It’s not the first time you’ve fought. There have been a few bar fights in your time, and you do _work_ with your hands.  


But you have not been trained in the actual art of fighting, and you fully expect Rex to beat you in the first few moments.  


The thought of him slamming you down on the mat, pinning you with his weight leaves you looking carefully out the window, telling your brain to _focus on other things_.  


“Ready?” He asks, and you can tell by the tone of his voice he’s going to enjoy this.  


“Sure,” you chirp, pretending you know what you’re doing.  


And then, you’re fighting.  


Rex rushes at you, and you clamp your teeth to keep from crying out. He’s fast. Like, even faster than you expected. You lunge out of his way, hitting the floor and rolling as he spins around.  


Tire him out, you decide. The only way you have a Maker’s chance at lasting more than a second.  


He comes at you again, and this time, you use his momentum to propel you away.  


“Interesting tactics, _cyar’ika_ ,” he taunts. He doesn’t even sound winded. You circle each other, waiting on the other to make the first move.  


Rex eyes you, calculating. You eye him, doing your best to calculate and failing.  


“Y’know,” you say, pretending to lunge at him. He doesn’t even flinch. “You’ve never told me what that word means.”  


“ _Beat me_ and I will.” You make another circle, and then he’s advancing, feinting to the right, then switching at the last minute.  


You can’t help it. The little cry slips out as he grabs your left shoulder and spins you around. His arms come up, pinning your hands to your sides, as he molds his stomach to your back. You struggle, but it’s useless.  


He leans down, mouth right by your ear.  


“I win.” It sends a delightful little shiver down your spine. An idea comes to you. You drop your weight. Rex has to adjust his stance to hold the sudden deadweight, and you use his precarious balance to surge backwards.  


He goes down hard, and you fall on top of him, quick to scramble up so you’re straddling his hips. You pin his hands above his head.  


“I win.” He looks up at you, eyes dark with an emotion that makes you hot all over. Your hands loosen a fraction, and he tears them out of your grip, snapping his hips up at the same time.  


It sends you flying forward; hands slapping down on either side of his head. His own, now-free hands, end up at the small of your back. Your chests are flush, and his mouth is _right_ there.  


“Cheater,” he hisses, even as you both lean closer.  


He’s a breath away, and your eyes are slipping closed, and his hold on you tightens in a way that is _just right_.  


“Sir?” Your eyes fly open and you see some of Rex’s men standing there, looking highly amused.  


“ _Kriff_ ,” Rex growls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this is one of my favorite chapters and I had an absolute ball writing it :)


	7. Branded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone say angst?

The benefit to being on Coruscant means you have actual sleeping quarters instead of a damp pallet. (Or, even worse, the damp ground.) So, you value your time on-world. You sleep long and you sleep hard.  


Or, you try to.  


Your comm device goes off, beeping loud and sudden in the silence and sending you scrambling to find it. With most of the repairs finished, there’s no reason anyone should be calling you unless something serious has happened.  


“Hello?” There’s a beat of silence, and you start to wonder if you got commed by mistake.  


“ _Cyar’ika_?” Rex’s voice crackles over the line. It’s slurred and deeper than usual.  


“I’m here. Kriff, Rex, do you have any idea what time is?” There’s another pause and you can hear faint voices in the background.  


“I’m at the medbay.” His words slam into you like a punch to the gut. You stumble your way over to the lights, and flick them on, squinting around for your jumpsuit.  


“The medbay? The _medbay_?” You spy it in a ball on the floor by the ‘fresher and pull it on.  


“‘m fine,” he grunts. “Jus’ need help gettin’ back.” You’re already out the door.  


“ _Kriff_ ,” you huff. “Just…stay there.”  
***  


The medbay is empty when you get there; no surprise given the time. One of the clone medics points you down the hall, and you find Rex there, slumped against the wall.  


He cracks open his eyes when your shadow falls over him, looking equal parts adorable and miserable. You give him a stern look, hand on your hip.  


“Hi,” he slurs, goofy smile breaking out. It hits you then, and you groan.  


“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” He shrugs his shoulders, something that clearly takes a lot of effort and concentration.  


“‘m not drunk. Jus’ buzzed.” You kneel and put your hands under his arms, intending to hauling him up.  


He leans into you instead, head turning so his face is nuzzled into your neck. You cough awkwardly, and back up some.  


“Rex, ol’ _pal_ , you’re making things difficult,” you joke, trying to decide how to do this.  


“You make things difficult,” he mumbles, stumbling to his feet. “And don’t call me old.” You stare at him. He’s talking nonsense.  


“I make things difficult?” He nods, coming to lean heavily on you as the two of you start the trek back to his quarters.  


”M-make things difficult. Make it hard to focus. Smell nice too.” Cheeks burning, you shove him a little.  


“Stop talking, Rex.” He does not stop talking.  


“Always smell so nice too. And look pretty. Even when you’re covered in oil and grease. Kriff, you’re hair is soft. Bet your lips are too.” Now everything is _burning_. You looks around, praying to the Maker no one else hears him.  


“Rex, stop.” He trips over his feet and leans heavily into you to compensate.  


“Make me.” He buries his nose in your neck again, lips grazing beneath your ear. You eyes drift close, and for a brief moment, you allow yourself to pretend this is all _real_.  


Loud laughter comes from around the corner, and you jolt them back open.  


“Rex,” you whisper. “We can’t.” He mumbles something you can’t hear, then hauls himself back to standing.  


“Night, _cyar’ika_.” His tone is cold. You watch as he staggers away.  


“Rex,” You call after him.  


He doesn’t turn around.  


You’re left standing there; hand cupped over the place that feels like it’s been _branded_ by his lips.


	8. Ache

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to make sure everyone is on the same page, these chapters are mostly chronological, but they focus on both the little things and the bigger plot.

Sometimes, Rex catches himself thinking about kissing you.  


He doesn’t mean to, and it often causes attention issues.  


Like bad enough that no less than _three_ times, you’ve had to snap your fingers at him to get his attention.  


But the sight of you — nose smudged with grease after you try to push hair off your face and fail — does _something_ to him.  


Or when you laugh at one of his stupid jokes; head thrown back, laughter ringing out in the hanger bay. It draws him in, and he’s thankful for the helmet so you can’t see _just how much_ he’s looking at your lips.  


Or, _kriff_ , that time Fives convinced you to go to 79’s with the rest of them, and he watched you down a shot before making a distracting little pout at the bitter taste of it.  


It’s all almost too much, and he lies awake at night, trying to force his mind onto other things.  


But he can’t help but wonder what you would feel like, pressed between him and the wall. Can’t help but wonder at the little sounds you’re bound to make.  


Can’t help but wonder how you _taste_.  


It drives him crazy, and sometimes it almost makes him desperate with the need to know.  


And then you’re there, snapping your fingers in his face and calling his name, because he forgot to listen _again_ , while he was thinking about you and your lips.  


And he _aches_.


	9. Distractions

When you’re finally able to rejoin the 501st on their missions, it’s not anything like you expect. It’s not the battles you’re sort of used to at this point. It’s all new. A mission _specifically_ for you to do repairs. (Frankly, it’s a more than a _little_ flattering.)  


However. You’re heading to a nearly empty tundra wasteland of a planet, where you will be repairing a signal tower at an outpost that’s been dark for a few standard days now. It’s cold and it’s perpetually night, and frankly, it’s miserable.  


“Why couldn’t we have a relief mission on a balmy, tropical planet?” you mutter under your breath. You’re careful not to complain _too_ much. Rex is…not happy that you’ve rejoined the missions, which _does_ annoy you just a bit. At the start. But now you’re kind of wishing you’d given in to his protests and just stayed back on Coruscant.  


The weather here is brutal.  


Ice shards are doing their best to lash through your skin, and the wind nearly takes your breath away.  


And you haven’t even climbed _up_ the tower yet. Instead, you’re making your best efforts at solving the problem on the rooftop. For your sake _and_ for the sake of getting this over with.  


“Can we speed this along?” Rex calls over a particularly fierce gust of wind. You ignore him, choosing to keep your teeth clenched to prevent them from chattering hard enough to hurt instead of point out that fact that you are _hurrying_.  


It ends up being no use. There’s no issue with anything on the ground level.  


The problem has to be coming from the satellite up top, especially if this wind if any indication.  


You’ll have to climb.  


“I need climbing gear,” you call, glancing back at Rex. The 501st captain doesn’t seem to be having any particular issues with the harsh weather, but he has his compression blacks _and_ plastoid armor. And _helmet_. Your jumpsuit-jacket-bandana-safety googles getup is nothing compared to his.  


“Like _firefek_ you do,” Rex growls. He’s taken up a position right behind you, doing his best to shield you from the elements. And it’s sort of working because your back _does_ feel nice and toasty. But the weather is getting worse with every passing second, and the longer you wait, the more difficult it’s going to be.  


You explain as much to Rex, watching as he tilts his helmet back to look at the precarious tower. The outpost itself sits in a little hollow, but the satellite tower is on the roof and exposed to the gusty winds. Add in the durasteel beams that make up the tower (which are only slightly bigger than your wrist and twice as slippery as the ice on the roof) and you’re in for a rough night.  


Rex huffs, then lifts his arm, speaking into his comm.  


“The longer we wait, the harder this is going to be.” You have to lean in close to his helmet to be heard over the winds, which have doubled just since you’ve been talking.  


“Fives, Echo, bring the gear we packed up here. And tell the rest of the crew to hunker down. It looks like we’re in for a nice little blizzard.” There’s a pause, and then Rex’s men come trooping up top, hauling the items you need.  


“Need any more help, sir?” Echo asks, hand lifted to help shield the vision slit on his helmet.  


“Just get back below and make sure we have plenty of rations and heat packs,” Rex orders. You can hear the underlying worry in your voice. Fives and Echo salute, then fight their way back to the hatch leading inside.  


“Are you expecting us to be stuck?” you ask. He doesn’t answer, and instead helps you set everything up, double checking to make sure everything is secure. You’re about to start working your way to the top, when he puts a hand on your shoulder, stopping you. You tug down the bandana so he can hear you better.  


“Something wrong?” He slips off his helmet and holds it out to you.  


“You’ll want something more protective up there.”  


You’re touched.  


You smile gently at him, taking off the googles but leaving the bandana. Extra warmth. He gazes down at you, hand coming up to brush a strand of hair back behind your ear. His hands are warm, and you lean into his touch, relishing in it.  


“I’ll be right down so you can have it back,” you say finally, when a howl of wind and ice shards intrudes on your moment. He raises an eyebrow, soft smile on his face as he plucks the googles out of your hand.  


“Just be careful, _cyar'ika_.” On the helmet goes and up you begin to climb, his hands on your waist to steady you until he can’t reach anymore. The helmet is a little big and takes some getting used to at first, especially with the way Rex has the HUD set up. You can see a temperature and elevation read out, as well as vital signs.  


There’s also a log in the left corner, which keeps track of communications between the 501st.  


You can’t pay attention to it while you’re climbing, but when you get to the top, you take a minute to orient yourself. (Ignoring, to the best of your ability, the way the tower is _swaying_.)  


That’s when you see a line of communication from “CT-5555.” _Fives_.  


_I got twenty credits the Captain makes a move after this_ , the transcript reads.  


It shouldn’t surprise you. It really shouldn’t. After that night when Rex commed you, drunk and lacking a filter, you kind of figured there were some unspoken feelings.  


(Feelings, that, you could never admit, are _definitely requited_.)  


But seeing the communication distracts you _just_ enough, so that when the next big gust of wind whips the tower, you’re jostled around.  


You lose your grip, and for an eternal second, you’re suspended in the air.  


And then you’re plunging down. You’re vaguely aware of Rex yelling, as you scramble to take hold of the safety line secured to the harness you’re wearing. Your tools clatter to the distant roof below you, and fear robs your lungs of air.  


Too late.  


The line snaps taut _inches_ above the ground, jarring you to your very bones. The helmet clacks against the ground, ratting your teeth and leaving you with a sharp pain in your head.  


The last thing you see is Rex in the very edge of your vision.  


He’s _panicking_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems like Rex is forever asking Mechanic!reader to speed things along while she sasses him. (It doesn’t work out so well this time.)


	10. Incalescence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I want to say thank you to everyone who has read/commented/interacted with this story!! It’s been mind-blowing to see the response, and I still can’t believe it!! 
> 
> Second, I realize it’s been 8,000 years since I last updated, so thanks for hanging in there! Enjoy the chapter!!

Consciousness is slow in coming. Gradually, you become aware of a pounding in your right temple and an aching back.  


But what trumps all that is the sound.  


There’s a constant, rushing sound that assaults your ears, and you find yourself trying to twist away in an effort to find relief. Something wraps around you, keeping you still.  


“Easy, cyar’ika. Just hang in there,” someone murmurs. You find yourself leaning into the touch. It’s warm, you realize. When everything around you is cold. The realization takes the edge off the piercing cold that won’t leave you alone.  


“Kix, are you almost finished?” The words float over and through you, and you grapple with them, trying to assign them some semblance of meaning.  


Instead, they slip on by, and you’re left wanting and more confused than when you first heard them.  


The cold blows through you, and you lean closer to that warmth, willing your eyes to open.  


But it’s so cold out there and it’s so warm here, in this limbo, so you let yourself be pulled back under. Your head falls back down to something hard, and faintly, you hear a rhythmic sound that brings you comfort.  


(Later, you’ll only be able to identify the sound as home.)  


*****

The next time you wake up, you’re a lot more alert. The rushing sound has died down, but your extremities are cold, and you find it hard to move.  


A squinted glance to the left and right in the dark room tells you why.  


You’re propped up against the wall, sandwiched between the 501st’s sleeping medic - Kix - and Rex.  


Rex, who has his head tilted back at an incredibly uncomfortable angle, with a fraught look on his face, and tension creasing his skin even in his sleep. You start to reach up and smooth the worry away, but it’s then you realize you can’t move your hand.  


(It is, however, the only part of you that’s totally warm right now.) Rex has it held tightly in his grip.  


You shift slightly, and your back twinges in warning. Things come back to you in pieces, and the thought of how close you came to serious injury leaves you breathless.  


Your stirring must wake up Rex, because you feel him move before he speaks.  


“ _Cyar’ika_?” He croaks out, the hand he’s holding yours with tightening before he realizes what he’s doing and letting you go. You feel an odd sense of loss at the sudden lack of contact.  


“I’m here,” you say. “Why do you always call me that?” It’s a weird time to ask - in fact, probably the wrong time - but you can’t help focusing in on it.  


“I-I don’t always,” he stammers out. Your back has increased from the annoying twinge it’s been doing to full on pain, and you shift to where you’re laying back against Rex’s chest, legs draped over his. The movement is without thought and you don’t consider it until you feel his breath hitch under you.  


“Sorry,” you murmur, worried he’s injured. “Did I hurt you?”  


“No.” It comes out through gritted teeth, sounding slightly strangled.  


It does funny things to your stomach.  


“Are you sure?” You turn slightly, trying to see his face, then decide to situate yourself further in between his legs for maximum warmth and comfort.  


“Yes.” He’s only giving you one worded answers, but in his “yes” you hear it. The barely contained desperation.  


_Oh _.  
__

____

____

Oh, _that’s _what’s wrong.  
__

____

____

You open your mouth to apologize for essentially and quite literally forcing yourself on top of him, and for putting the two of you in this situation, but Kix interrupts with a mumble at the loss of your warmth, then scoots closer to the trooper on the other side of him. It looks like Fives, and you bite your lip to keep from laughing and waking them up. Rex takes a deep breath, and you feel his chest rise and fall against your back.  


“Are you hurting anywhere?” he asks. Carefully, his hands tighten around your waist, enveloping you in a hug.  


It’s exquisite torture.  


“No,” you whisper, watching as the rest of the 501st sleeps piled together. Yes, your mind whispers. Yes, I’m hurting and I just want you to kiss it and make it better.  


(Your mind goes off on a tangent then, imaging Rex kissing up your spine and you have to reign it back in.)  


You could never ask of him any of that. Duty comes first, and it’s that characteristic that makes him so appealing in your eyes.  


“Are reinforcements on the way?” You ask, desperate to change the subject. Rex is silent for a moment and you toy with pressing farther into him. Pushing that boundary.  


“Yes. Echo called it in while Kix made sure you hadn’t busted your kriffing spine.” He speaks before you can act on the thought.  


“Good,” you murmur, “I’m ready to get off this kriffing planet.” Rex laughs softly behind you, and you feel it then.  


The gentle kiss against your temple.  


“Language,” he chides softly, arms tightening almost imperceptibly, as if he’s afraid that once he loosens his grip, you’ll float away.  


“You said it first.” Your voice is breathless, and you give up, pressing harder back into him, and relishing in the way he feels behind you, even with his armor between you two.  


“Sorry,” he says. “Wasn’t thinking.” Do it again, you want to beg him. Don’t think. Instead, you rest your head against his chest. There’s that rhythm again; the one you heard the first time.  


“S’ok,” you mumble, sleepy once again now that you’re warm and comfortable.  


As your consciousness fades out, you feel him press another soft kiss on the other side of your head, where the bruises will be forming. Vaguely, you hear yourself hum in contentment.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bother me on Tumblr as @kill-the-feels where I spend most of my time screaming about Star Wars and Temura Morrison’s various faces.


End file.
